Untitled Story  With Marilyn Manson and Twiggy R
by demonbuttercupp
Summary: Just a story I'm writing... I want it to start out painfully typical in the begging  with a few off colored flashbacks c;  and then have some horror, mystery, romance, and comedy.


Today was a day of confusion. Confused hapiness. I knew the things that made me happy -my family, friends, job, Twiggy. But there's this skeleton in the back of my closet... not even. A thing that makes me wonder what would happen If I made different choices. As far as romances go.

- Start flashback -

On the carpet I sat with my capless jam jar. Fingers abestmindedly twirling in it. A slam peirced my ears. Someone opened the tour bus's rusty door. I looked up to see a woma- no, man (he has no boobies), with his head turned. While his head was turned I couldn't help but gawk at his luscious hair. Hair... so pretty! I wanna touch it. His chest was absent of a shirt, he had shiny leather pants on, and black gloves that went up to the elbows. At the top of the gloves there was a feathery pink rim (...the pink feather stuff was as tempting to touch as the hair). A bunch of tatoos rested on his arms. A cyclops, wasp, devil, di, goat.

''What's this doing in here?'' He pointed at me, asking the security guard outside.

The guard leaned in and rested on the bus. ''Monica went to the bar for the night. She told me she left a little present for y'all. I'm guessing you know all about the present, her daughter?''

The man mirrored the guard's dull tone. ''Of course.''

The guard nodded and walked off to continue guarding. ''Hmmph. A present, huh? Screw her.'' His nose crinkled as he sneered. ''I'll have to leave a little present for her, in the form of a hungover pimp.''

What in the world was he talking about? A 'pimp'? A 'hungover'?

He turned to me, malice fading. My eyes were transfixed to his hair until I noticed his own eyes. They were different colors! Brown and blue. And they glinted with life.

As his appearence melted my brain into pudding, he walked up to me and kneeled down. I felt short and vunerable sitting down so I quickly stood up.

''Gonna share soma' that jam with me?'' A playful smirk plastered across his face.

''Only if you share your hair with me.'' I reached over and played with the ends of the hair. He grinned and scanned me from hands back up to eyes.

''Lucielle, give me some jam now.''

''Sure thing... uhmmm... mister...'' I pulled at my hair in girlish confusion.

''Manson. Marilyn Manson.''

''- Manson.'' I smiled.

I scooped a fairy large gob of jam onto the fingers of my left hand and felt around the floor, with the other, for the spoon. I wasn't finding it... maybe mommy took it with her to the 'drinking palace'?

Marilyn was amused as I did that but really wanted the jam so he stuffed my fingers into his mouth and licked the jam away.

''Whaaaa...? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!'' Chipmunk giggles errupted from me.

''That tickles!'' His mismatched eyes were set on mine when it suddenly occured how tall he really was. Standing up at full height, I was nowhere near his face... and he was kneeling down. Slowly, I met his gaze... EEE. It still tickles. ''Hehehehe!''

The increased giggling made him smile. The inky mane attatched to his skull filled my peripheral vison. Wow. This is weird. My face... feels like it's baking brownies.

Soon as I realized that, I noticed Mr. Manson's eyes were shut. Rather than looking like a monster that eats little children, he more resembled a sleepy, sunbathing cat about to have a good meal. What a funny comparison.

The jam on fingers was almost gone when a bald man walked in. I could tell there was a man (and a bald one at that) because I moved the left side of Marilyn's hair out of my way when I heard footsteps at the door.

One of his eyes opened, blinked, and he turned to look at the man. He released my hand from his mouth (finally! I wonder what his mommy had to go through when feeding him) but still held onto the wrist connected to it, tightly (Jesus, help me).

I peeked over his shoulder to get a better veiw of the bald man. The man had a soft, yet creepy, smile on his face. ''Mmm. Brian, watcha been up to lately?''

''Oh, the usual,'' he licked a stray thing of jam on the corner of his lips, ''Eating jam off of a small child's fingers.''

- End flashback -

My face sort of felt warm like a brownie oven again. That was the day I first met him, in '95. Despite my fears I was always pulled into his flawless charm. Say there was a venus flytrap, a fly. He was the fly trap, I the fly. Our relationship was always weird and intense. From the time I met him, to now.

Now. The word made me scoff because there was barely nothing between us now. No friendship, no nothing.

On the knife I was holding, the cherry jam slipped off and landed on my thigh. I wiped it away and slipped the knife back in place. I picked up my sandwhich and took the first bite. How can I still eat this stuff? It was a childhood staple; jam, peanut butter, bread. Seperated or fused. Mom, at the time of that flashback, was morphing into an alcoholic. It was far easier to feed me a jar or bag of food. Drunks didn't have the time to cook.

I realized how late it was as I zoned back in. 1:28 AM, according to the neon lights of the microwave clock. Muscles tensed. Another day has gone by. Now It's we're even closer to the wedding. Details weren't unsettling me. Just the notion of it all... I've never gotten married before (bless my young age). I rested my head on knuckles and my elbows on the oak dining table.


End file.
